


mirror, mirror;

by reaperangelique



Series: mars may sell you kingdoms, but venus crowned me queen. [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ballet, Clothing Kink, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Flexibility, Frottage, Grinding, I think?, Lap Sex, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Nyotalia, in the fakest way, it's amazing what comes up in these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: Austria is not athletic, but she enjoys donning the pointe shoes and pretty costumes of a ballerina all the same- at least when theyfit,and don't expose every curve...and she wouldn't want to be caught by anyone while she observes herself in the mirror like that.A total PWP with a conveniently appearing Prussia, and part of my regular PruAus continuity.





	mirror, mirror;

**Author's Note:**

> because i drew her in a tiny leotard going through ballet motions, so why not...

It had been a long time since she'd worn pointe shoes. Actually, it had been a reasonable amount of time since Austria had last properly stretched or exercised, but, she reasoned, she _had_ performed a fine waltz, a foxtrot and even a tango at a party not two weeks before. She could _dance,_ that wasn't really exercise. It did leave her with something like a full-body hangover the next day- and the next- but that was what the stretching was for.

Admittedly, ballet was another beast all together. It took a certain strength and athleticism Austria didn't possess to really _be_ a ballerina. She struggled to stay en pointe without supporting herself on something, and as for the splits or a proper arabesque, well, she never had been able to stretch her legs quite _that_ far apart. ...Not by herself, anyway.

But it didn't matter, it was only a diversion, after all. A neglected hobby she could attempt by herself without self-consciousness, in the privacy of her own home. It might have been helpful to visit her favoured dance studio for some help from an instructor, but she didn't particularly feel like being seen in a leotard by whatever young blood staffed the place now. That would be embarrassing- Austria felt a blush rise in her cheeks just from the thought of all those lithe professionals witnessing _that,_ eyeing herself in a full-length mirror. She'd had some old room upstairs converted into a dressing room- hence the mirror- and then later repurposed it for her ballet fad, a rail on the wall serving as a barre. It had been repurposed again a few times, and she couldn't remember what it had been in the first place, but it served her purposes when she felt like practicing.

She kept her costumes there as well, but she was rather understocked, and, well, what she had on was the only thing of practical use. She might as well have been naked, in her opinion- although despite her privacy, the mirror made that option a little too, ah, hair-raising- so the leotard it was. Austria observed herself for rather a long time after she'd put it on, though she'd turned modestly from the mirror during the actual process. Running a hand down her waist, she felt the smooth, velvety surface of the pale peach material, slightly shimmering, and the transition to her own cool, soft skin when she hit on her hips. Rather _large_ hips, and rather exposed, the "leg" holes pressing into her flesh high above her actual hip bones; where the fabric actually covered her it still hid nothing, every little roll around her waist visible, a shadow displaying her navel. She tugged awkwardly at the crotch, thankful for reinforcement there, but still nervous to slip out of it at any moment. Of course, her adjustment pulled at the upper half, her breasts straining already, the tiny moles between them visible in her deep cleavage. At least the straps seemed strong, but the overall impression was of a garment intended for a pre-pubescent girl on a grown ( _very_ grown) woman. When did she even buy it? It obviously didn't date to her own girlhood. Perhaps it was in the wrong size...or perhaps, she thought, as she turned around and craned her neck back to witness just how little of her pear-like form it was interested in covering, she had gained weight...a lot of it. Perhaps it was post-war vintage...

Either way it was patently ridiculous, but then again, dancers seemed to wear very little nowadays anyway. Something about seeing every movement of the body. She supposed it was more to do with sex appeal, at least on certain kinds of dancers. On _Austria_ \- well... _someone_ would find it sexually appealing- possibly many someones- but it was quite out of character, in her opinion. Even her lingerie had a little more support to it, for heaven's sake.

It took her a long time to realise just how deep down the rabbit hole of introspection she had gone, turning this way and that in the mirror to run her hands down her stomach and feel its pudgy roundness, the leotard molded over it. Plucking here and there at the fabric, to see it snap back against her skin and carve deep lines, making her spill over everywhere. The more she looked, the less sure she was of the difference between embarrassing and erotic, but finally Austria shook her head abruptly, pulling away from the mirror at last to gather her hair and tuck it up into a voluminous bundle of curls and braids. At least that way she looked ever so slightly more like a ballerina and not a...an exotic dancer or somesuch.

She tested her shoes against the floor; a real dancer would wear out a pair a night, but these were gently used, though broken in. It seemed an awful waste to buy such pretty things- at such a cost- only to ruin them in the performance. If musical instruments had such a sorry lifespan, Austria was sure she'd never have the heart to touch them. But it wouldn't hurt this pair for her to stretch a bit in them, and she sat down on the floor to do so, remembering faintly the proper forms- of her day, at least- and attempting to move her body through them, slowly.

She faced away from the mirror at first, feeling no need to look at herself as she stretched her legs out; they were long only in comparison to her rather diminutive height, and very curvaceous, for legs. Or maybe that was another word for wide and unmuscled, the thick padding of her hips continuing down her soft thighs to rounded calves. Austria could appreciate the shape very well without a mirror, while she stretched them to their full length first against the cool floor, and then up into the air- as best she could. But when she rolled over to change positions, she found herself face to face with her body again, her eyes unable to ignore the sight. She swallowed as she leaned down over one outstretched leg; if her back and stomach were protesting silently, her breasts were threatening to revolt, pressed tight against taut fabric until it seemed as though the straps would simply give way. When she leaned back again, resting on her hands, they settled on her chest, delicate but prominent, and she realised she could see her nipples through the glimmering fabric, firm for some indeterminable reason now.

Austria blew a strand of hair out of her face, her skin warm and somewhat reddened- the temperature in the room seemed to have risen, though she'd barely begun. She could plausibly put it down to her being out of shape, but she wasn't tired, she was _tingling,_ and though she might have been slightly vain, she didn't _really_ want to admit to being excited by watching herself contort around in a scrap of spandex.

Still, though. There was a devious curiosity to mirrors. It wasn't as though she'd never seen herself- like that- in one before, but it was the sort of thing one avoided most of the time, unless one was a narcissist. _That_ made her think of Prussia, instantly, and she felt a brief twinge of amusement, before it was rapidly overtaken by a thrill between her legs. He _was_ a narcissist, but more importantly, he was her lover of many, many years and- when she thought about it- there really had been a few mirrors, over time. Never _her_ suggestion, she might add. She'd pulled him away from one plenty of times, too self-conscious, but when she did indulge him, it was...shocking, almost, to actually _watch_ the wonderful things he was doing to her. She felt like a voyeur, and like someone was peeping at her window, all at once. It wasn't a bad feeling, per se...just a little...much, to be doing often. Something for- not special occasions, but moments where animal desire surmounts ego, the type of moments where she might let him pull her underwear down in a deserted street, or brazenly take him in her mouth on the living room couch, with the curtains wide open.

The moments of bad decisions, in essence. But they were rather delicious all the same.

Her body was still half-heartedly going through the motions, but her mind had long since wandered to moments like that, and she felt the fabric cling to her like a second skin, her senses heightened. The leotard suppressed her hard nipples, pressed tight against her vulva in a way that made her squirm now, and when she pulled herself to her knees, it rode up between her buttocks, the sight over her shoulder making her fingers twitch to correct it, and yet leave it at the same time. It was astonishing what a costume could make her feel, inside and out. She had worn...oh, hundreds of sensual things, intentionally or otherwise- drawers with a very large gap in the middle, corsets with no cups- bits of lace, entirely see-through- Austria had something of a fondness for the things that (theoretically) went under one's clothes. Her leotard most assuredly fell into the same category, there was no way she could have worn it publicly, but for a _private_ audience, she just might have.

She supposed, though, she would have to be her own audience, if she craved one so much. Every girl had probably touched herself before a mirror, or taken a little look, but Austria had hardly made a habit of it. It was novel again, she mused, as she slid a hand gingerly between her thighs, her back still to the mirror. Her other hand steadied her against the wall as she slowly spread her legs, her throat a little dry at the sight of the pink fabric screwed up between them. It wasn't so strongly reinforced as she thought, as she smoothed it out with her fingers, revealing the shape of her lips; when she pressed a fingertip into that soft cleft, she felt liquid soak through. Despite the poor fit- at least from a decent person's perspective- she found herself hoping the garment would not be ruined, it would be such a waste of a pretty thing.

It was convenient, though, in a way. It was thin and fine enough for her to feel every touch, without actually exposing herself just yet. She might, later, but her red cheeks glowed back at her, and she demurred for the moment. Instead she spread just a little further- her stretches actually helpful, she had to note wryly, not that she had managed _any_ dancing- and stroked her fingertips along her folds until she found her clit amidst the fabric. She was gentle with herself, not wanting to chafe anything, the sensation of fabric against her intimate parts a little overly-stimulating, but the material was beginning to grow wet, easing the way to firmer rubbing. She wanted to touch her nipples, free her breasts from their scant confines and revel for a moment in open lust for herself, but she needed to keep herself steady against the wall, biting down on her lip and telling herself, _in a moment, in a moment._

In a moment, though, might be too late, sensation heightened wildly by runaway thoughts, and she almost laughed as she worked herself until her hips were grinding down, entirely the cause of her own undoing. It was too often the case- though she couldn't say it like it was a bad thing, her active imagination letting her enjoy singular pleasures. Rarely did she experience a lack of _spark,_ a failed attempt, even in rushed and clumsy circumstances- though her choosiness in partners had something to do with it, certainly. She never went to bed (or anywhere else) with someone who didn't move that imagination. Or who couldn't deliver. Austria's appetite for sex and sensuality was in the league of her appetite for sweets- only the best, and plenty of it. It embarrassed her a bit, to admit it, but it came with the slightest touch of pride, all the same.

It wasn't pride that made her lean heavily against the wall, though, her face red, her eyes heavily lidded as they stared abashedly back towards the mirror, at the sight of her wide-spread legs, her ass in the air and her soft flesh trembling with the fast movements of her hand. She wouldn't reveal herself purposefully but the fabric, wet and malleable, threatened to do so by itself, exposing a flush of pink, wisps of dark hair. She might have come faster if she'd only pull the damn thing aside, but she refused, wanting to climax like that, wanting to see herself fall apart under her own hand, dressed like _that_ -

\- and then she did fall apart, but not quite as she'd imagined she would. A horribly loud rendition of the Heroic Polonaise started up from somewhere amidst her discarded things. Her wretched phone, with all its poor sound quality- the noise startled her and she toppled over to sit against the wall, squirming at the abrupt stop her body had not quite caught up with. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, and bringing herself to orgasm just like that- but she caught her own eye in the mirror, and flushed with embarrassment and irritation, knowing she wouldn't enjoy it now. Reluctantly, Austria clambered over the floor in the direction of the persistent sound, digging her phone up from beneath her dropped blouse.

It took her a moment of tapping and sliding to get it to do what she wanted it to, and then she noticed the caller's identity, and breathed out a long sigh.

"Of all the times, Preußen."

He could have called a little _earlier,_ and given her some assistance- but, no, that never seemed to work out between them, the telephone wasn't her strong suit. She answered him with a "Hallo?" that was entirely too breathy, though, and some part of her, however small, hoped he would notice.

"Hey, Princess," he said, his voice dulled by the phone line, but just as obviously proud and enthusiastic as it ever was. She assumed it was a greeting, but before she could respond in kind, he proved her wrong, swiftly moving on to the rest of what he wanted to say. "Why was your front door locked? I hope you're not entertainin' someone else, hah- "

Austria froze where she knelt, her heart thumping suddenly. All at once, the ghost of her arousal was replaced by a fear of being discovered _like that._ "You are _here?_ What sort of question is that?! Why shouldn't I lock my d- what do you mean, _was?_ "

"Well, Princess, it's not anymore- I just _innocently_ gave it a push and it opened all by itself, I guess your lock's no good- ah, don't worry, it's not broken, my magic touch must've done it- !"

"You picked it," she replied, unbothered by _that_ far too frequent occurrence, and more concerned by the fact that she could now _hear_ him closing the front door behind him, laughing down the phone, and tramping about in her hall. It would have crossed her mind to get up and put her clothes on, if only she had that sort of sense in a crisis. And if only she didn't still have a nagging desire to be _caught_ -

"Where are you, hm? You sound echo-y, are you in the bathroom? ...Can I come along, hah?" Prussia was chuckling at himself, the amusement in his voice stemming from excitement, Austria could tell; a casual, everyday sort of excitement to be breaking and entering her home. It made her heart twinge. But it still wouldn't do to have him find her in that state, and she lowered her voice as she responded.

"No," she hissed, concerned that he would locate her by sound, just as she could definitively place him on the stairs now, his feet still noisy against the old wood in his socks. "Preußen, I am- occupied- go and sit downstairs- you needn't come up here," she spluttered, damning herself now with her protests, she knew. "Make yourself useful and get the coffee, I will be with you directly- !"

"Which room are you even in? You're not in bed, are you, still?!" Prussia didn't listen to a word, and she heard him throwing doors open in his search for her, drawing closer- her impromptu studio was only a landing away from the staircase. "Listen, I would've called ahead but I was already driving to Bayern's place to pick a bone with him, then I saw a sign for some Dirndl maker and I realised I had better things to do with my day, heh."

Austria could hear his voice from the corridor now, never mind the phone. Exasperated and panicked at once, she finally began to gather herself from the floor, tugging at all the crevices of her leotard and cursing the dampness at the crotch. She couldn't help replying to him, foolish in her flustered state. "Well, I am not wearing a Dirndl, I am sorry to say- "

"What _are_ you wearing?"

"...Er- "

She probably didn't need to explain precisely what she was wearing, since he chose that moment to open the door and discover her.

Prussia's face said it all as he paused in the doorway, exuberance in his expression dying down first to surprise, then to curiosity, and finally a sort of light glee as he let his eyes roam her where she still sat. She kept her legs tight together, but there was nothing she could do about the tight, pale fabric wrapped around her waist, molded to her breasts, disturbed from where it had originally sat to be ever more precarious. She knew her hair was mussed and her face was red, the flush extending down her chest; her eyes were likely a touch glassy, her lips flooded with colour. She could have said for certain if she turned to the mirror, but that was out of the question. Austria let the silence stretch instead, slowly ending their phone call, just to highlight the absurdity of it all.

"Are you...dressing?" Prussia eventually asked, an incredulity in his voice adding the part he hadn't: _why are you on the floor?_

Austria frowned at him, automatically. "No. I retrieved my phone from my pocket." She gestured vaguely to the clothing on the floor. It didn't really answer his question, when she thought about it.

He was trying not to laugh now, she could tell, and her cheeks burned a little more. "So...you took your clothes off...and put _that_ \- " -here he paused for an appreciative look and a _whistle,_ damn him- " -you put that on, all to answer the phone? Is this an Austrian mating ritual I've never heard of, Princess? 'Cause if it is, I'm seriously sad you never introduced me before, you know- "

"Oh, shut up," Austria snapped, all venom drained from her voice by her fragile state of dress. "I was preparing to go through some ballet exercises, by doing floor stretches...! Th-this is only a leotard, you imbecile- wh-why should I wear- I was not even _expecting_ you today!"

"Hahh...so you dressed up for yourself," he said, all _knowingly,_ and she gaped at him.

"...H- how... _what?!_ "

" _No!_ You really did, did you?!" Prussia was suddenly gasping and gesticulating as though he couldn't believe his ears, his grin displaying his wild entertainment at her plight; Austria could have slapped herself. "Princess...tell me honestly, now, what kind of floor stretches have you been getting up to without me here, hm?! I'm a little insulted! I'm a _professional_ when it comes to stretching before a workout!"

"You're a fool," she insisted, red to her ears, her arms clamped over her breasts. "And you don't know a thing about ballet."

"I could, though," he said, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. "If you showed me."

Austria held his gaze for what seemed like a profoundly long moment- a _moment,_ with a questionable decision slinking along after it. She could, she decided, drop the pesky part of her that was embarrassed he'd found her. There were other, more interesting responses available, after all, for such an intimate guest.

"...Shut the door."

-

How and why Prussia had shed his t-shirt was a bit of a blur, but probably more important was whether it was _safe_ for him to be holding her leg up quite so high. Austria could not remember this particular position from her lessons, but someone had to have done it once or twice. She shifted on the one foot that touched the ground, en pointe only because she was weightless with his support, her hands nervous on the barre behind her and her ass pressed up against it. Prussia held her around the waist, her leg propped up against his arm and shoulder- not stick-straight, she had to admit, her hamstrings weren't having it- and his hardon pressing against her where she was impossibly exposed now. Well, her leotard was _more or less_ still doing its job, but she felt the texture of his trousers through it, the incredible warmth of his body against her. He ground his hips against her, hungrily, and his mouth had long since claimed hers without any apparent intent to let it go again; she found it faintly entertaining that he was so eager, after having really just walked through the door, but that was nothing new. Pleased sounds escaped them both between their wet kisses, and where he tugged at the back of her leotard in his enthusiasm, he disturbed the front, the flush of her areolae visible now.

"You look beautiful in that," he managed as he finally pulled away from her lips, completely earnest, and she choked out a laugh. "Don't laugh- fuck, 'm serious!"

"I look- " She had to stop, to voice her appreciation as he abruptly shoved his pants down enough to show her his cock, and press it hard against her barely-clad vulva. "I look _many_ things, darling, I look- "

"Good enough to eat," he said against her neck, letting her leg down only to lift both of them up around his waist, helping himself to a generous bite of her perfumed skin, as if to prove his point. He would leave her with a vibrant mark, and she didn't care, thinking it would match all the pink and red she was painted with already. She braced herself against the rail, a strange latent athleticism moving her hips to rub against him, the climax she'd lost before beginning to wander back to her. Prussia's hands grasped her thighs tightly, full, grasping handfuls that made her grateful for their size suddenly, appreciated as they were. But he pulled her away from the wall, and she clutched him carefully around his neck as he lowered them both to the floor.

"Can I?" he said, affecting the _mother, may I?_ tone of a child at the table, laying Austria out on her back; he fluttered his pale eyelashes at her, and she bit her lip, half-smiling.

"I don't know, can you?" she said, writhing where she lay, eager for something to happen, but not sure she wouldn't just collapse at further stimulation. Prussia moved over her, kissing her lips and her face, moving down to catch a nipple out of bounds with gentle teeth, dragging the fabric of her leotard down her chest with his fingertips, and following with his mouth. He left it on, though, settling himself between her legs, and delicately pulling the strip of material there aside to expose her.

"You're soakin' wet," he said, and she scoffed at him stating the obvious, letting her head loll back; it hit her, then, that the mirror was behind her, and her upside-down view of him examining her was startling indeed. She was pliant as he spread her legs wide, pushing them up in mockery of her stretches, too focused on how it looked in the mirror. Lewd, that was how.

"Oh," she said, when he kissed her clit, and sucked for good measure. The sight, obscured by position, was one thing, but the feel suddenly reminded her how close she'd been, and she bucked her hips. "Oh, Preußen, don't, I'll- "

"Come," he cut in, licking his wet lips and stroking her legs gently. "C'mon."

It gave Austria a sudden flashback to their earliest couplings, when he'd revealed a liking to watching her climax- studying it, at first, interested because it was different and he wanted to repeat it, then simply enjoying it- and feeling pleased with himself about it. He still did; the familiarity of his intent, persuasive, somewhat amused gaze melted something in her, and when he kissed her thigh, she lifted her hips to his mouth.

She watched herself gasp in the mirror, watched her back arch up off the floor and the shimmery fabric shift with her while his tongue moved quickly over her most sensitive place, and it was almost a little too much; but it was hot and indulgent, the wetness keeping her just the right side of comfortable. She couldn't possibly tolerate it for long, and she let herself be coaxed quickly to her end, moaning low in her throat while the feeling radiated up her belly.

The satisfied look on Prussia's face was easy to picture with her eyes closed, after seeing it a thousand times. When she did look, at last, he was neatly covering her again, tucking her bush carefully away under the fabric. Fascinatingly strange, but probably a joke at her expense.

Austria lifted herself up on her elbows, eyeing him as he lingered between her legs, on his knees again; he'd shucked his trousers, his tight white underwear shoved down and his cock brushing his taut belly. He gave her a sideways sort of smile, pressing his cock to her again, tapping lightly against the drenched material at first, then rolling his hips slowly, as if gauging her comfort. She rocked her hips from side to side, raising an eyebrow which he seemed to take as a challenge- slowly, holding eye contact with her all the while, he lifted the fabric with a finger again, and slid his cock directly between it and her skin, leaning over her a bit to angle himself correctly.

She watched for a moment as he gently rocked against her, his cock visibly sliding under her leotard, the head brushing her clitoris each time it appeared out the other side, and retreated.

"This thing is going to be ruined," she said, rather distantly. "I shall never be able to have it laundered."

"I'll hand-wash it for you," Prussia replied, with a toothy grin, rolling his hips slowly against her; if the fabric chafed him at all it didn't show, his erection hot and hard as it pressed deep between her lips. Perhaps she'd awoken a new perversion with the blasted garment. "Or we could keep it this way when we're done with it- as a souvenir!"

"Oh, don't be disgusting," Austria protested, her hips twitching as he pressed a little hard against places that still needed gentleness. "And let me up...my back is tiring of this."

He stuck out his tongue, making mocking faces since she'd shot down his joke, but he dutifully pulled back and helped her up, seating himself and pulling her into his lap comfortably. "Since you're dressed like that, Princess- "

" _Yes?_ "

"I want a lap dance," he said, wickedly, and she pressed her forehead against his to give him her best disapproving look. But it wasn't a _no,_ exactly, and she was haughty as she lifted her hips, straddling him properly and trapping his cock between her warmth and his own stomach. Slow at first, her outstretched arms balanced on his shoulders as he groped her with relish, fingers sinking deep into her buttocks, mouth tugging on her nipples.

"I thought the rule _was,_ " Austria said, grinding against him with circular motions that he encouraged, "that you were not supposed to touch the dancers."

"Shit- who took you to a strip joint?" Prussia laughed, but it was tempered with the faint hint of a moan, and Austria pushed against him more fervently, suddenly eager again.

"Spanien," she said, without thinking, trailing his jaw with her mouth, pressing her breasts against his chest to feel their heartbeats pound together in some mad rhythm. He guffawed in her ear, fingers digging into her ass again.

"Fucking Christ," he said, "she's the only person I know who goes just 'cause she likes this one particular snack they got- "

"She liked the dancers, too," Austria breathed, a warm feeling stirring where they were rutting against each other, and she wanted more, lurid tales of her once-wife's obliviousness could wait.

"Of course she likes the fuckin' dancers," Prussia replied, interrupting his thought with a kiss. "She just thinks of food first, tits second- no priorities- "

"And you have priorities?!"

"Mmhm- Princess- "

"What?"

"Turn around for me."

"Ah..."

It became obvious, once she complied, that he had been enjoying himself by watching proceedings in the mirror over her shoulder; she wasn't _entirely_ sure she wanted the view herself, but she let him hold her hips and help her roll them against him, his cock underneath her, between her legs and against her ass, the flimsy garment she wore nearly hanging off her, and stretching under his strong, urgent fingers. She closed her own on his forearm, tearing her eyes from the mirror and her pink, pink self.

"Don't tear it...it would be a _waste._ "

Prussia laughed against the back of her neck, where her hair was falling down, his hands coming instead to drag aside the crotch of her leotard, then grab at her breasts, massaging so hard she arched her back and threw her head back with the type of groan only rough masseurs can draw out. She was ready again, soaked and throbbing, and instead of grinding back against him once more, she leaned forward, pulling at his arms to let him know.

"Preußen..."

"Österreich," he said, with relish, nipping at her shoulder. "Want it?"

"Yes... _obviously,_ " Austria sighed, feeling him lean back and position himself properly, his cockhead pressing up into her waiting warmth, but he didn't move further. Before he could say anything, she knew what he wanted, and she sank down herself, enjoying his intrusion, the far-too-familiar fullness. She sat completely on him, but he patted her ass, and in the mirror, she saw him grinning behind her.

"Go on..." he suggested, in the manner of one testing his luck, because he knows his target is soft on him. He settled his hands on her hips, touching them lovingly like they comforted him, and she did go soft. Not without a roll of her regal eyes at him via the mirror, but she lifted herself again, riding him slowly and shallowly, then taking him deep, searching inside herself for that flighty pleasure point.

Her eyes, she kept demurely lowered, but she couldn't miss the sight in the mirror, seeing her hair tumbling down one side of her head, and her bare breasts moving with her thrusts, however slow. The bright light in the room lit up the ivory and pink of her skin, the brilliant violet of her eyes, setting her leotard shimmering and throwing the scatter of beauty marks across her body into sharp relief. Behind her and inside her, all around her, Prussia glowed pale, his eyes glinting like a glass of wine and his scars stark. A beautiful contrast, perhaps they'd been missing out, without the mirror.

She never would let him install them all around the bedroom, though.

"Preußen," she murmured, leaning back against his chest; he wrapped his arms around her immediately, kissing her cheek tenderly, and if she was foolish enough to think that was the end of his deviousness, well, she didn't know him. And that would be impossible, after three centuries. Her smile grew wry as he lifted her by the thighs, untucking her legs to spread them wide instead; wry, but blushing.

"Don't forget your stretches, Princess," he said, holding her gaze in the mirror, until she broke and looked away, letting him lift up her legs and support her weight. She made a token effort at stretching her limbs towards the ceiling, but it felt ridiculous and she laughed, her breath catching as he pressed up inside her.

Austria wasn't one for conversation while she was being debauched, and she contented herself by leaning heavily back against Prussia, enjoying the relative comfort of his hold and manipulation of her body- he was absurdly strong, even after all this time, even after...and she felt light in his arms as she always did, all silliness about excessive curves and tiny leotards forgotten again. She watched under her lashes as he lifted her up and down, just the slightest, in time with his rolling hips, his pleasure a litany of soft and growled sounds in her ear. Turning her head to rest cheek to cheek, she sighed in response, perhaps a little behind him, since he'd brought her to her peak once already. At least, until he let one of her legs go in favour of stroking her with his thumb.

That was the end for her, that and his gaze she could see in the mirror- not _on_ the mirror, but intently on what he could see of her face over her shoulder, even though he could have looked at her reflection. Prussia was watching her tongue wet her lips, her eyelashes flutter, and the little movements in her face as his touch stirred her, all up close, as close as possible, and it flooded her with warmth. Austria braced her foot against the floor, her hips straining up and rolling back, keeping him deep inside but shifting sensually, pleasuring him as he did her. He bit her neck again, playful as a puppy, but she could hear the tremor in his laughing voice, his orgasm building inside her, a sudden stiffness, and then a twitching, his warmth filling her and his praises whispered to her.

She let him enjoy it, sheathed in her, before she bucked again, and his distracted fingers stroked firm circles over her clit while she rocked on his softening cock. The mirror made it dreadful and wonderful all at once, the visual of him now almost bonelessly wrapped around her, his seed dripping from her while he still lay inside her; she was fascinated, and yet she couldn't bear to watch any longer, laughing softly at herself as her climax began to take her. She shut her eyes, and felt him lay his free hand over them, no longer propping her up, and her freed legs shuddered by themselves. Austria laughed again, and heard him respond in kind, before she moaned out the apex of her pleasure, and breathlessly lost all tension, all thought.

Quiet climaxes, perhaps the only kind one could reasonably have in such an exposing situation. Austria pulled Prussia's hand from her eyes, peering over the top of it like a child's blanket, and she flustered too much to stay that way when she saw how they looked, her mind clearing. He snickered, but he let her pull off him without complaint, awkwardly setting her leotard straight (and it would have to be hand-washed as soon as humanly possible, perhaps with industrial bleach) before collapsing on her side. There were aches, she realised, starting in her calves and her lower back...

Prussia lay facing her, his arms loose about her hips, hands drawn to her buttocks as if they had magnets in them. He gave her a minute, but she could see his mouth twitching, unable to ever stay closed for long.

"So."

"Yes," she said, pointlessly.

"Ballet."

"Hmm?"

"C'mon, teach me. I don't call that much of a lesson, Princess."

"...What do you want to know?"

"Tell me the rest of the positions, you know, where else you can put your legs," he said, grinning openly; Austria pushed at his shoulder in halfhearted rebuke. "Then later, you can _demonstrate,_ Österreich- no slacking."

She pushed his face that time, but she didn't say no. Oh, she would be sore in the morning.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> three centuries, by the by, is about the length of time they've been together (on and off).


End file.
